See! I Told You He Wasn't Real!

So, how often in your life has anyone you known copped to this dubious accomplishment:

I was Chuck E Cheese.


Yeah, sorry to destroy the illusion for you. But for a two month span in my 16th year of life, I wore the furry costume and mouse head of the patriarch of that particular pizza selling family. I definitely was in the best shape of my life during that run. You have to be to do costume acting. One, the suit isn't light. And you're expected to always make big movements, and generally have more energy than the Spartan cheerleaders on Red Bull.

Oh, the stories. And I have the yearbook signatures to prove some of them. Like how a group of my classmates came in late night and we put on a "special" performance for them. The yearbook signature there goes something like "because of you I got to 'freak' Chuck E Cheese." That's not dirty, by the way. She just meant dance in that really weird way that I guess was popular in dance clubs in the early 90s.

There was the time when I got knocked out by entirely too clever preteens. They pulled the whole "kneel behind someone, push them over" trick. When I spilled backwards, though, the head piece slammed in to one of those kiddie quarter rides. You know, the ones that move up and down and side to side and are aimed at a toddler. That was enough to knock me out for probably ten seconds. When I came to, it was to the sensation of one of those little stains reaching up in to the head, trying to unclasp the helmet (there is basically a bike helmet in there). I smacked his hand away and stumbled in to the back. Suffice to say, there was a bit more supervision after that for the costume actors.

But, that isn't why I stopped. I stopped for completely selfish reasons.

I stopped because I was sick of getting punched in the junk on a nightly basis.

That might be an exaggeration. But not by much. The preteens, the ones smart enough to know better, always seemed to want to "prove it" to the younger kids. This was what their adolescent brains always came up with. Kick/punch/headbutt Chuck E in the crotch! Of course, the fallacy being that if a 6 foot mouse who stood on his hind legs DID exist, his junk would be there anyway. And let me tell you, there's only so much a cup will do for you, protection wise.

So, I ask those of you with children to make sure you raise them to be good kids, that don't punch Chuck E Cheese in the balls. He might turn out like me later on...nobody wants that. It might also be a female costume actor.

Til' next time, faithful few.